Suicidal Poems

What Really Goes On

We all have a friend
Who's silver and shines
It pierces our skin
And draws the red lines

It leaves several scars
Over the years
But it lets out our screams
As well as our fears

It gives us relief
We need the sensation
But we keep it a secret
We hate the attention

Those perfect red lines
They become such a burden
But we do it anyway
Because we're tired of hurting

Some calls us a psycho
Because we all know they are wrong
They all know what to be
We don't know where we belong

We hide the scars
Under jackets and sleeves
The cuts stay unseen

We try to act fine
So no one will know
But sometimes we slip
And the cracks begin to show